#dorian.writes

[aeonmnei]

— “do i really need to be shirtless for this?” hajime asks gruffly, sitting neatly on your dorm floor as you write on a piece of tape, godzilla t-shirt tossed unceremoniously on your bed. 

your anatomy exam is coming up, and you’ve been studying like your career depends on it (spoiler alert: it does), but you’ve been going batshit crazy just staring at your notes. so what better way to get off the books than to hang out with your boyfriend? 

“yes,” you reply, placing ‘pectoralis major’ on his chest. “it wouldn’t work the same if you had a shirt on. active recall, visual learning, and such.” “right,” he mutters, brow furrowed as he watches you. “so…?” “so, flex your deltoid,” you demand. “c’mon, haji. this is important.” he flexes his shoulder obediently, looking away as you stick another label on his body. 

you’re kind of surprised hajime agreed to this in the first place; though honestly, you really didn’t give him much of an explanation, simply texting him, “come to my dorm @ 10pm,” with no further instructions. you laughed when he called at 9:42 saying he was at the building, having to hold it in as you led your bright-eyed boyfriend into your room.

“you will be to blame if i don’t pass this,” you tell him, revelling in the slight twitch of his body as you slide a finger over his skin to pat down the adhesive. “right. can’t have that,” he says under his breath. you snicker. despite his reluctance, he’s not angry. maybe just disappointed. you’re not worried, though. he’d get what he came for soon enough.

sneaking a glance at him, you quickly scribble ‘teres minor’ on another scrap of tape. hajime’s ears are bright red, but his bottom lip is pursed up and his jaw is tight. tell-tale signs of his enjoyment. 

“i know you’re a little embarrassed, but i need you to lift your arm up for me,” you tell him sweetly, tape hanging from your fingertips. hajime lets out a flustered grumble in reply, dim light highlighting hard planes of muscle as he accedes. 

“it’s kind of itchy,” he says, after a moment. “well, it’s tape,” you answer matter-of-factly, pasting ‘frontalis’ on his forehead, then look at him doubtfully. “also, you need to stop scowling. you look cute when you’re not scowling.” “‘m not scowling,” hajime says under his breath, but his eyebrows relax immediately. you bite the inside of your cheek. cute.

another couple minutes pass by as you continue to stick labels on him, humming a tune while you treat your poor boyfriend like a whiteboard. 

“...how long will this take?” hajime asks, stiffly, two pieces of tape hanging off the hollows of his cheekbones. you stretch out, making a big show of checking the clock on the wall. it’s almost midnight. “i’m basically done,” you reply. “i’m not going over the accessory muscles.” 

hajime tilts his head, narrowing his eyes knowingly at you. “yeah, just wanna know, so i’m not peeling gemellus inferior out of my butt tomorrow,” he remarks wryly. you mirror his expression, enthused. “hah. i forgot you know this already.” 

hajime pinches your inner thigh playfully. it doesn’t hurt—he could never hurt you—but you yelp anyway, more tickled than anything. “hey, i’m pretty smart, you know,” he reminds you, smoothing over the subtle sting with a callused thumb. 

you scoot over towards him, running your hand down the label reading ‘rectus femoris.’ “i know you’re pretty smart,” you say, gaze locked on his, “otherwise i wouldn’t allow you to be sitting shirtless on my floor.” you pull, and the screech of tape being taken off skin is the only sound in the room for a second.

the sudden dilation of his pupils makes you laugh through your nose. “oh, that’s all,” hajime says lightly, body hot under your touch. “because i’m smart.” “and muscular,” you add, leaning over him as he sits back on his forearms, watching you intently. “mm, that’s part of it?” he asks, voice just breathless enough to make your stomach tighten.

“yeah,” you murmur, hooking a fingernail under ‘external oblique.’ your eyes drop to his bare chest, then drag back up to his face as you smile. “do you take a makeout session as gratuity for your model work?” 

hajime swallows, his jaw fluttering. a blush blooms over his cheeks and he rolls his eyes. “that’s what i thought you called me here for,”  he mumbles, warm hand coming up to rest on the curve of your lower back as you giggle. “c’mere.”

he peppers your face with soft kisses, leaving wet marks. your laughter fills the small room when you feel something sticky on your cheek. 

“haji, i can’t take you serious with that stuff on your face!” “take it off, then!”

hello. folks. birfday post 4 me and him cuz we junebugs like dat

[aeonmnei]

fem!reader. brief mention of vomit and menstrual blood.

— osamu miya is a gross man. don’t get his business and pleasure confused, though. his restaurant is clean as a whistle. he’s not unhygienic, either (except for the abysmal stank of his socks). no, what you mean by “gross” is that osamu is more than willing to be it. 

your first introduction to this is in the middle stages of your dating life. take this notable instance: you make yourself a bowl of fresh noodles and promptly burn twenty million taste buds off your tongue. 

“ow! ugh…” you wince as you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. osamu shuffles over from the living room. “mm, lemme see,” he says, leaning on the counter and taking your chin in his hand. “‘samu, it’s the same color as it always is,” you protest, weakly opening your mouth to let him examine. “wait, stick it out,” he tells you, eyes narrowed in concentration.

you stick out your tongue, and you don’t even get a chance to try to move before osamu darts in to plant a kiss on it. “ooh, chili soy,” he muses, licking his lips. you sputter. “EW! OH-THAH-MU! WHUH THUH HELL??” you shriek, not quite knowing what to do with your mouth. 

“i kissed it better,” osamu replies matter-of-factly, looking way too smug. you glare at him. “c’mon, don’t act like we haven’t done worse,” he says, sticking out his own tongue. “you love me.” 

you give him a wordless noise of agony in reply.

you learn later on in your relationship that if you throw up, osamu will catch whatever doesn’t make it to the toilet with one hand and use the other to pull your hair back. if you’re not sure if you smell right after a workout, osamu will stick his nose into your sweaty armpit and take a whiff. if you don’t have a tissue to wipe your boogers, osamu will hold out his arm and let you stick it on him. “there’s a thing called soap and water, babe,” he tells you, unamused at your repulsion. “that’s what i use to get it offa me.” 

“but that’s so— nasty!” you argue. “it’s nastier to have it just hangin’ from your fingers like that,” he counters. he shakes his exposed forearm. “soap ‘n water. i’m tellin’ ya.” you grunt at the audacity to call you nastier, but reluctantly swipe your fingers on his skin and give him a dubious glance in your peripheral.

you think that maybe osamu is really just that gross. eventually, you conclude that there’s simply something fundamentally off about him. he won’t even tolerate atsumu’s accidental spit droplet on him in the fervor of his ranting about another teammate, but lets you bite, lick, and slobber all over him unsolicited. 

for heaven’s sake, you burp in his face while making out one time and he laughs and kisses you again. meanwhile atsumu will sneeze in the vicinity of your kitchen and osamu will tell him to wear a mask. it’s just you. he’s just gross with you.

it only escalates more when the two of you get married. your husband will lick the drool off your cheek in the morning. your husband will help you pass gas. your husband will literally go down on you in the throes of your period!

your husband will open his hand for you to spit out something so he can taste it, too. “this sandwich is kinda dry,” you remark, dabbing the corner of your mouth with a napkin. osamu glances up from the counter and holds out his hand. “spit it out.”

you comply, because the sandwich isn’t all that great and for some reason, you think your husband is about to do something rational, like throw it away for you. instead, he tosses your chewed-up sandwich bolus into his mouth and swallows. “yeah, i make a better one…what?” he asks, genuinely puzzled at your look of abject horror. “we kiss all the time.”

and right when you think you’re used to it, to the limits of his grossness, osamu barges into the bathroom while you have the biggest poop of your life since infancy to shave his face. “osamu, get out!” you yell, tossing a hand towel at him. he catches it with one hand and picks up his razor, completely unfazed. 

like an absolute freak, he breathes in a ridiculously deep breath. you think he’s about to start floating the way he closes his eyes and leans in towards you. “that’s a good one, babe,” he says approvingly, taking no heed of your scandalized expression from the toilet. “means i feed ya right.” 

you groan. 

osamu miya is a gross man, if that wasn’t…grossly obvious. he’s disgusting. he makes you wipe your snot on him. he lets you hold it while he pees. he shaves his face in the same bathroom that you’re actively taking a shit in.

but osamu miya also goes dumpster diving if you drop something in there. osamu miya washes menstrual stains off your clothes. osamu miya cleans out your earwax. god, osamu miya would wipe your butt for you if you asked. 

he wants to take care of you. he’ll kiss you better (no matter where it is). he’ll let you cough and sneeze on him (because if you’re going down, he’s going with you). he’ll eat your leftovers (in whatever form they come in). 

osamu miya is willing to be gross because he wants all of you. even if that 'all of you' means stinky farts and morning breath and all the gross things that people shy away from. 

osamu miya wants it all.

[aeonmnei]

clingy and dramatic husband!hajime when he’s sleepy or drunk. you’d never believe it. even he doesn’t believe it. insists he’s not— boy you literally are!!!! it’s not loud or necessarily theatric, it’s just his actions are so … well, we can let them speak for themselves.

— you’re trying to head out to work, but he’s got a day off and he’s grabbing you by the waistband of your pants from the edge of the bed. “come back to bed,” he complains, voice muffled into the pillow. “you don’t need to go to work.” “hajime, i actually do need to,” you reply, trying to pry his fingers off.

he lets out a grumble, still holding on tight. then he turns his face so you can see one sharp hazel eye staring at you. you know that look. it’s all too familiar on these types of days. you will admit, however, that the look works. “ugh,” you mutter, bending down to press a wet kiss to his cheek, lips curving into a reluctant smile. “good bye. i love you.” “i love you, too,” he calls with sleepy affection, letting his arm drop.

— he’s laying on your body on the couch, face nestled into your chest on a scorching day. “haji,” you whisper. “get off. it’s hot.” “no,” he mumbles, moving to bury his face in your neck. you sigh. “i’m serious, hajime, i’m sweating really bad.” his arms snake around your waist. “no,” he says, louder. “ha. ji. me.” you place emphasis on each syllable in his name. “let me go.” “‘m not hajime,” he replies.  

you furrow your brows. “yes, you are. c’mon, it’s boiling in here.” you try to push him off, to no avail. you take a deep breath. “babe,” you start. “mm.” hajime shifts slightly. “please get off me,” you request, patting his back. hajime grumbles, not answering. a bead of sweat rolls down your forehead. “what do you want from me?” you wail, fanning yourself. 

“i want you to call me baby,” he says, mouth in your armpit. 

— after a seijoh team video call where they catch up and drink together, hajime is totally and completely hammered. usually he’ll stop drinking around the time he gets warm and cuts it off there, but it was a really long call and everyone ended up drunk. including him.

“seriously,” you say under your breath, watching him across the kitchen table as he sips on the soup you made for him. hajime glances up at you, cheeks rosy, then frowns. “your face,” he starts, setting down his bowl. “are you mad at me?”

“i’m not mad at you,” you reply. “hmm,” hajime grumbles doubtfully, putting his face on the table. he stays like that for a moment, then tilts his face up so he can look at you. “you’re so far away. come closer.” “i’m across the table,” you remind him. “too far,” he insists, reaching out (his elbow isn’t even on the table). “can’t reach you.” “haji, you’re not even trying.” 

— outside of the doors of the home you two share, he’s back to what everyone else usually sees. calm, reserved, almost stoic at times, but still loving and caring. definitely not what you witness on lazy mornings, or sweltering afternoons, or quiet nights.

it’s like spraining your wrist hula-hooping. “why are you telling me this?” because no one. will ever believe you

[aeonmnei]

— osamu quietly sighs to himself as he hears an irritated grumble from your side of the bed, along with the soft huff of the bedsheet as you shift uncomfortably. his mild exasperation dissipates quickly, however, when he hears you whimper and sniff.

osamu tosses a pillow aside as he turns over to check on you, spread eagle on the bed with your forearm over your eyes. “what’s wrong?” he asks in a hoarse whisper. 

you’ve got an awful pout on your face, and he can see a tear slide down your cheek and onto your lips in the faint light. osamu watches in slight amusement when you lick it off. he clears his throat. “what’s wrong?” he asks again. 

there’s a pause as you sniff loudly. you dig your palms into your eyes. “it’s hot,” you say, finally. osamu’s deadpan as he leans on his elbow to look at you. that’s all?? “well, yeah, baby,” he replies plainly. “t’s summer.” 

“it’s so hot, i can’t sleeeeep,” you groan, your leg swinging over to land on top of his. “‘m so tired, ‘samu. and that fan’s doing jackshit.” “it’s literally in yer face, babe,” osamu tries, but you let out another weary sob that makes him roll his eyes as he starts to get up, peeling your sticky leg off of him as he does.

“where’re you going?” you mumble, still sniffling. “gettin’ ya a fan,” osamu grunts, feet dragging sleepily across the wood floor.

he comes back a few minutes later with a large handfan, lying back next to you on his side. osamu snaps it open and starts fanning you— face, chest, stomach, and back up again. you relax, settling into the bed contentedly, and he can’t help but scoff.

“yer sucha drama queen, ya know that?” he tells you, his voice full of affection. “seriously.”

note: i think i spent more time debating between a colon and an em dash than i did writing the damn thing

[aeonmnei]

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ a valentine’s day special! ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡₊˚

feat. hajime, osamu, shoyo, & kei. inspired by my cafe's spring menu.

˚ᯓᡣ𐭩 rose matcha – with hajime .˚❀₊˚ 𓍢ִִ໋໋

⛰ a picnic in the trunk facing the flower fields ↠ carrizo plain ⛰ i can't lie, he has the prettiest eyes i've ever seen┊ever seen – beabadoobee ⛰ drink notes: delicate rose seems to perch at the palate above the bright taste of fresh matcha.

for a while, you’ve been mentioning wanting to see flowers. “there’s a big field in carlsbad,” you brought up. “and lots of botanical gardens nearby.” 

now, hajime is not a man who will take you to some city garden and let that suffice. with what stress you’re going through lately, the last thing you need is to be around a busy crowd of people.

so hajime makes plans. hajime does his research. nestled in the central coast of california is a stretch of land where boundless blooms sprout from winter rain. the drive is long, and traffic is abysmal, but it’s worth it to him. it’s for you, after all.

four hours later, the tires of hajime’s car crunch on the dirt road as he pulls over on a hill overlooking the vast canvas of wildflowers. he pops open the trunk, laying out a blanket for you to sit on as he leans on the taillight.

you glance over at him. hajime is standing still, his eyes wide with mirth at the sight. he turns to you after a moment, smiling, the kind that blows you away every time he does it. his eyes crinkle, and his nose kind of scrunches, but it’s so bright, and so wide, and he’s got the tiniest dimples that peek out from the hollows of his cheeks. 

“isn’t it pretty?” he asks, reaching out for your hand. you let out a soft laugh. the nerve to ask that question while he looks like that.

“you’re pretty,” you reply, taking his hand with a reassuring squeeze.

⋆˚꩜｡ blueberry pancake latte – with osamu .₊˚⊹ ᰔ

⛾ a hearty breakfast before viewing the wintersweet trees ↠ matsuda ⛾ instrumental┊say it (over and over again) – masayoshi takanaka ⛾ drink notes: the otherwise overt sweetness is balanced by the light roast’s smooth profile.

you nearly laugh at the amount of bags that osamu is holding when you walk into onigiri miya. “it’ll be a long ride to kanagawa, i’m just prepared!” he says defensively. “and yer always complainin’ thatcha get hungry on trips!” “i know, i know,” you say, patting his bicep and taking one of the three plastic bags hanging off his elbow. “thank you. i love you.” 

osamu sighs affectionately as you give him a quick peck on the cheek. “i love you, too,” he replies, pulling you in by the waist. you tilt your head towards the entrance. “why is our wedding photo on the door, though?” he makes a face. “‘cause that’s why we’re closed?” you pinch his cheek. “you’re so sappy.” “not sappy if it’s the truth,” he insists. “why’re ya rollin’ up yer sleeves?”

“i’m gonna make us pancakes before we go,” you tell him, holding up a basket. “and i got blueberries from the neighbor before i left.” “aw, yer gonna make lil’ ole me blueberry pancakes?” osamu asks, shyly tucking a short strand of his hair behind his ear. you roll your eyes playfully, taking out a bag of flour. “yes, i’m gonna make lil’ ole you blueberry pancakes.” 

osamu hopes he makes it abundantly clear, whether verbally or through his actions, that he loves you, because he does. he leans over the counter, watching you make him breakfast with a lovesick expression. 

“love ya,” he calls, chin resting in his hand. “love ya back,” you sing-song in reply, and his heart melts.

°❀⋆ orange blossom matcha – with shoyo .ೃ࿔*:･

☼ a morning at home after the summer rain ↠ são paulo ☼ me dê a mão, vamos sair pra ver o sol┊estrada do sol – antonio carlos jobim  ☼ drink notes: the orange fragrance sits lightly over the creamy base of milk and matcha.

february in brazil means peak summer and carnaval in full swing. it’s busy, it’s hot, and it’s rainy. a thunderstorm washed over the day before, bringing in some respite from the normally sweltering heat. the city bustles below as you stir, and the windchimes sing their morning melody from the open window. the small space fan creaks and hums as you pad across the wood floor.

you greet shoyo in the kitchen with a pet on the nape of his neck, smoothing down light baby hairs that grow up into the golden tousled strands you know so dearly. your pinky catches onto the chain of the necklace you gave him, which has been worn by him so much there’s a faint tan line.

shoyo turns to pass you an orange wedge, a fresh breeze blowing through and ruffling his hair. you take a bite, and immediately giggle. “your hands are sandy, sho,” you tell him, covering your mouth. “oh no, can you taste it?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“try one,” you say. shoyo complies, tossing a slice in his mouth, and it crunches much more than a juicy orange should. “aw, it is sandy,” he groans. “how do you have sand on you already? you just woke up,” you say, resting your chin on his shoulder.  “i was cleaning off your board so we can go to maresias later,” he replies, nuzzling his cheek to yours. “it should be warm and calm today.” 

you kiss shoyo through a smile. he tastes like sunscreen and citrus. “we’ll go out and relax, then.”

ִֶָ𖧷₊˚˖ strawberry mocha latte – with kei .𓍢ִִ✧˚.

☃ a wintry evening in his apartment ↠ sendai ☃ 回る世界であの娘と / 夜通し踊り続けたい ┊words of love – lamp ☃ drink notes: reminiscent of melted strawberry ice cream and chocolate with a bitter tug of espresso.

kei kicks off his shoes in the genkan of his apartment and wearily flicks on the lights. it’s quiet, save for his shuffling around the house as he gets things ready for your date tonight. the plan is to indulge in chocolate covered strawberries and liquor. 

the microwave hums as kei leans on the countertop to wait for the chocolate to melt. he cracks open the window, cool air brushing his skin. the city sparkles underneath, full of people with their own valentine agenda. it’s odd to think that you’re one of them. 

twenty minutes later, he hears the familiar jingle of your keys at his door, bumping erratically as always. kei opens the door with a smirk, watching as you stumble in with a plastic bag. “i got the kahlua and vodka,” you tell him, breathless. 

“i have the chocolate and the strawberries ready,” he replies, taking the bag from you. he holds out an arm for you to stabilize yourself as you wrench your shoes off. “we can drizzle the toppings later.” 

you grin at him as you straighten up, and he leans down to meet you in a welcoming kiss. “ugh, you ate some without me,” you complain, licking your lips. “just one. to taste,” kei replies, a complacent smile on his face.

he shuts the door behind you and shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving up. “we have all night to eat, anyway.”

[aeonmnei]

— “no one can make desperate look cool.”

and god, wouldn’t he know that to be the truth. it’s almost embarrassing how tetsuro keeps moving seats during lab to get a ‘casual’ glimpse of you in the singular hour he has in that stuffy room.

he’s had to keep changing lab partners because he keeps messing up the titrations or measurements or using the wrong instrument. nothing too serious, just little inconveniences that make him a bit trifling to work with. that’s okay with him. that’s on purpose. his plan is to hopefully land with you next, but you seem to be very content with your current lab partner. which is…not ideal.

today, tetsuro manages to finally grab a table near yours, mulling over his thoughts for a moment before turning around with a sheepish smile on his face. “hey, would you mind if we borrowed your scale?” he asks, in what he prays is an easygoing tone.

you tilt your head. “your lab partner is getting one,” you tell him, pointing behind him. tetsuro fights to keep a polite look on his face as his partner walks back with a scale in his hands. “ah, sorry. didn’t see, haha!” tetsuro laughs, turning back to you warmly. “nice…” 

he literally fades off. he was going to compliment something about you, but everyone is wearing the same protective gear, and it’s not like he could say, “nice PPE!” because that would even more of a fumble than what was already happening. tetsuro resorts to two finger guns. “thanks,” he says, trying not to sound awkward, and turns on his heels back to his table.

fine. he’s determined. yearners are earners, as they say!

luckily for him, it seems like today’s lab he’s hit the jackpot. your partner failed to show up (because of a surgery or something insignificant like that), and his lab partner also failed to show up (something something broken ankle or other). you know what that means!

“heyyy,” tetsuro calls, sauntering up to you. he leans nonchalantly on the lab table you’re standing at. “no partner today?” you glance at him. “nope. yours either?” “yeah. i mean— no. i mean unless you wanna be, then yeah,” he rambles. wait, he’s confused. what did you say? “huh?” tetsuro squeaks at the end, like it couldn’t get any more worse. oh my god, kill me now, he thinks, blankly smiling at your amused face. 

you laugh, and it almost makes him forget how mortifying this situation is. “sorry, i meant, your partner isn’t here either? i phrased it badly. sorry,” you explain, still giggling a bit. “but sure. i’ll be your partner. wouldn’t want you to mess up those titrations again.” “damn, is that my reputation here?” tetsuro asks good-naturedly, attempting to look you straight in the eyes. he fails. he looks at your ear. 

“well, it’s hard to ignore the fact that you have to keep switching lab partners,” you reply, just as cheekily. “maybe i’ll settle down one day,” he nearly jokes, but he swallows it down and laughs instead. suddenly it’s really hard to speak. 

he’s uncharacteristically quiet as you set up the lab table for a lycopodium experiment. he reads over the instructions as he waits, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “hey,” tetsuro starts. “i can perform the experiment. since it’s open flame, and stuff.”

“oh,” you say, peering at the paper. “okay then.” tetsuro has to look away to not look stupid as he tamps down a grin at the thought of you two having to stand next to each other. since it’s open flame, and stuff. he redirects his smile to the teacher, who looks at him oddly, but keeps walking around. “i think we can start now,” you tell tetsuro after a few moments. “neat,” he replies, then nearly bangs his head on the table corner. who the fuck says ‘neat’?? 

after mentally beating himself up, tetsuro takes a match and lights it, hand shaking just slightly as he feels you sidle up next to him. “whoa,” you breathe. the powder catches the flame and gives a mild ‘whoosh’ in response. “not too scary,” he remarks. it’s more of a reassurance to himself, because his finger is right on the match and the fire is a little too close for comfort. “it’s not burning you, right?” you ask him, a hint of concern in your voice. 

he laughs, feeling some of that macho energy. “nah,” he replies, smirking a bit. then the flame jumps, and he quickly shakes the match to put it out. yikes. “uh, mind getting the pipette?” “yeah,” you reply, suctioning up some lycopodium powder in the tube and handing it to him. tetsuro lights up a standing candle and takes the pipette from you, trying to hide the fact that he’s reeeally giddy at the feeling of your fingers brushing his.

“alright, stand back,” he says leisurely. you hide behind him, looking over his shoulder, and tetsuro feels like he’s soaring on top of the world. he holds the pipette to the candle and squeezes, creating a giant flame that dances in his vision. “wow!” you exclaim with your hand on his bicep, and the pipette in his hand starts shaking. 

fortunately for him (and his ego), he recovers quickly, and gives the pipette another squeeze to fuel the fire. this goes on until the powder runs out. as the two of you clean up the tables, you speak up. “you’re actually much more capable than you seem.” tetsuro looks to the side sheepishly. “was i really such a lost cause to you before?” he asks, and snickers at your immediate confirmation.

you shake your head amusedly as you wipe down the tabletop. “seriously, all the data in the report is correct, and you didn’t mess up the experiment. i’m impressed,” you tell him, giving him an appraising look. 

it’s so embarrassing how he can’t make that smile of his smaller. his cheeks hurt like hell, and there’s a fuzzy feeling in his chest as he practically floats his way home.

fuck, he’s so whipped for you.

note: real ones know the line from chapter 267 no i'm not insane you are

[aeonmnei]

— you take the cd case that kei slides over to you. “you made me a playlist?” he rolls his eyes. “your music taste sucks.”

you roll your eyes back at him, placing it in your bag. kei gives your desk a tap before heading back to his own.

he’s always so casual about things, but underneath it all there’s something softer, you think, sitting next to your cd player. the genres are eclectic, jumping from rock to jazz, pop to r&b.

they’re all united in lyricism, though. kei has given you 79 minutes and 59 seconds of love songs.

[aeonmnei]

fem!filo!reader x filo!iwaizumi. reader is referred to as tita (u old lol).

— “here, give her to me—” 

hajime takes your niece from you as you wrangle your bag, your plate of food, and your drink. “hi, bub, c’mere,” he coos, tossing her a bit in his arms. hajime’s forearms flex as he shifts the baby to lean on his shoulder. “you okay? need me to hold anything else?”

your jaw clenches imperceptibly as you zero in on the size of his hands. they’re nearly enveloping your niece’s chubby legs as she rests her little head on hajime’s chest. “yeah, i’m…good,” you reply after a moment, sipping your drink nonchalantly.

oh, my god.

it’s unfortunate, how much babies love your boyfriend, because he looks so damn good with them. it doesn’t help that your nieces, nephews, and younger cousins all love him, either. hajime is adored by your family so dearly it’s knee-wobbling. you swear they like him more than they like you sometimes.

the sound of your niece’s joyous squeal disturbs your pondering. hajime is tickling her exposed tummy with a callused finger, smiling widely as she laughs. “babe, eat,” he urges you, taking notice of your incessant staring. “i’m still kinda full from this morning, haji,” you admit, setting down your cup and walking closer to him. “have a bite?”

“oh, sure,” hajime replies, leaning down a bit. you feed him a spoonful of pancit palabok, watching as he takes it with exaggerated pleasure and looks at your niece in surprise. “mm, so yummy!” he exclaims at her, and she giggles, slapping her tiny hands all over his ears and face as he chews. hajime turns back to you with a gentle smile. “it’s pretty good.”

“you’re pretty good,” you reply, an underlying tug of desire in your voice as you squish your niece’s dumpling-like cheek between your thumb and forefinger. “she loves you.” 

hajime’s expression of genuine surprise makes you snicker. “really?” “they all do,” you affirm honestly. “my cousins are always asking ‘is kuya hajime here too?’” you shake your head. “and i tell them, ‘no, it’s just me this time,’ and they get all pouty.” hajime laughs, pulling down your niece’s shirt over her stomach. “it’s just ‘cause i play sports with them, is all,” he replies modestly.

is all. you slap his arm with no real heat. “haji, you’re like their hero. seriously.” your niece lets out a trill of laughter, almost in confirmation. “trade,” you order, handing him your plate. he complies, dipping down to pass the baby off to you. 

she whines in protest at this, nuzzling her head into the curve of hajime’s neck and grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt. “ugh, you see?” you remark, chuckling. “she doesn’t want to go with me.” “c’mon, bebe, go to your tita,” hajime coaxes, but your niece won’t listen, not even sparing you a glance. you take back your plate and wave a hand amusedly. “it’s fine, i need to go greet my lola anyway,” you tell him, squeezing his bicep as you turn to leave.

“alright, i’ll get food later. tell her to save some for me, yeah?” hajime asks, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he straightens up. “i’m gonna walk the baby around for a bit.” with that, he strolls around the yard with her, laughing and chatting with your family easily. you pause, watching the two of them fondly, then pick up your drink and head back to the kitchen.

that man is your whole future.